


House Call

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 16:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Never liked all this sneakin' around anyhow."</p>
            </blockquote>





	House Call

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season One. Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt "in flagrante delicto".
> 
> * * *

They travel as far up the interstate as they can before dusk threatens to overtake them, but no matter how far they get from the city Daryl still tastes the ash from the fire on his tongue, the grit of it on his teeth. When he swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, the sweat he wipes away is tinged with charcoal. 

He pulls over when he sees the old farmhouse in the distance, paces restlessly beside the truck while the rest of the group debates what to do. Like they've got any choice, with the sun starting to dip below the horizon and nothing but the graveyard of cars at their heels. He keeps a wary eye on the blank faces of the windows as they head up the gravel driveway, alert for the twitch of a curtain or the hint of a moving shadow. Sees nothing, hears nothing, not even when the scrunch of the tires and the sound of the engines has faded, leaving only the last of the cicadas chirping in the high grass surrounding the house. He hoists his crossbow into place before following Rick and Shane through the front door; tracks through dusty rooms and deliberately lets his eyes glaze over when they pass by the photos lined up on the mantel, the brightly painted toy box in the corner. 

They find nothing but clothes spilling from opened drawers in the bedrooms, a broken glass on the faded tiles of the kitchen floor.

"All clear," Rick calls out when they return to the dusty front yard. "There's towels on a rack in the bathroom, and running water. Just cold, but it'll do just fine for some washing up. Get some of this grime off our skin."

"Might not last long," Daryl puts in. "This far out? Probably comin' from a well. No idea how long it'll hold out."

"Daryl's right," Rick says, with a nod in his direction. Daryl forces himself not to shuffle, holds his ground when several pairs of eyes turn his way. Only Andrea doesn't look up, keeping her eyes trained on the toes of her sneakers. And the old man, never turning away from his fixation on the damn girl. 

"Use it sparingly," Rick continues. Daryl stifles a sigh of relief when the attention turns back to the cop. "And don't drink it. We don't know if there's been any contamination."

"All right, folks," Shane says. "Let's get inside before we lose the light."

* * *

Daryl waits until everyone else has shuffled through the bathroom before he steps inside, shuts the door quietly and props his crossbow up against the old clawfoot tub. He grimaces when his dirt-grimed shirt sticks to his body as he peels it off to let it pool at his feet. It was only after everyone else had emerged shiny and clean that he realized just how rank they've all become even in just the short, mad flight from the CDC. He kicks the filthy shirt away with the toe of his boot, twists the tap and cups his hands under the cool stream of water. Splashes it up onto his face and shivers when the water slides down his neck, drips in rivulets onto his chest to carve thin slices of clean skin through the dirt and ash.

He focuses on the bar of soap in his hands, the darkened water swirling down the drain with every squeeze of the washcloth.

Doesn't look at the yellow rubber duck propped up on the edge of the tub. Doesn't look at the pink frilly bathrobe hanging on the hook on the wall. Doesn't look. 

When the door opens he makes an aborted dive for his dirty shirt before realizing it's just Glenn. He turns back to the sink and meets the kid's eyes in the mirror, shoves the running tap off with a quick twist. "Be out in a minute," he mumbles.

"No rush," Glenn answers. 

Daryl hears the quick pad of his feet on the worn linoleum, but he still stiffens when Glenn's arms wrap around his chest, when Glenn's deft fingers skate across his ribcage. It's like this every time, no matter how much his damn brain knows that Glenn doesn't mean him any harm. Muscle memory is just too strong.

Glenn leans forward, props his chin on his shoulder. "Hi."

He can't help the twitch of his own lips in response, feels his body relax inch by inch as he watches the reflection of the two of them in the mirror. "Hey."

"So it looks like we're only staying the night. Shane wants to push on to Fort Benning in the morning."

Daryl snorts. "We're runnin' on fumes as it is. He think the gas fairy's gonna fly down and fill up our tanks?"

Glenn shrugs. "He's got the mileage worked out. Says if we stay on the interstate we'll just make it."

Daryl opens his mouth to reply, to point out that even in the best of circumstances – which these most certainly are fucking not – his truck could barely make it the one hundred and twenty five miles to the base, never mind that goddamn gas guzzler of an RV. But instead his breath hitches when Glenn's nimble fingers find and tweak at his nipple. Then Glenn's hand is sweeping across his abdomen, dipping beneath his waistband, and the kid turns his head to suck on the side of his neck, his shoulder. To nuzzle his nose into the hair at his nape, lave kisses along the curve of his spine.

His brow arches even as his dick starts to respond. "Sure you wanna start this now?"

He feels the curve of Glenn's smile against his shoulder blade. "We just found out that the entire world is a graveyard. We're about to make a mad dash to an army base that was probably overrun weeks ago. We all might die tomorrow. Can you think of a better time?"

The kid's got a point. Daryl turns, wraps his hand around the back of the kid's head and draws him in. The ends of Glenn's hair are still damp where his fingers twist around the strands, and the kid tastes like the mint toothpaste that's laying on the edge of the sink. He closes his eyes when Glenn's hands start fumbling at his belt.

"Hey, my dad asked me to…whoa!"

Daryl slaps at Glenn's questing fingers, shoves him back toward the wall before glaring at the intruder. "Ain't nobody never told ya 'bout knockin' 'fore you go into a damn room? Coulda been takin' a shit in here!"

"You weren't taking a…" Carl's eyes go wide before he breaks into a grin. "You were kissing!"

"Carl," Glenn says, "it's no big deal."

"I didn't know you guys were boyfriends!" Carl says gleefully. "Wait'll I tell mom!"

Daryl leans back against the sink, bites at his lower lip and swipes his hand through his scruff until the sound of Carl's sneakers slapping against the hardwood has faded. When Glenn nudges at his chest, he unclenches long enough to wrap one of his arms around the kid, draw him closer. 

"Should we try to stop him?"

Daryl shrugs. "No skin off my nose. Never liked all this sneakin' around anyhow."

He feels the huff of Glenn's breath on his arm. "You were the one who insisted that—"

"That problem's gone now," Daryl says. And he doesn't want to picture what his brother went through on that roof, the desperation he must have felt, the pain of the dull blade sawing through his skin, the sound of the bone cracking, the raw, savage scent of the blood maybe throwing the walkers at the chain-locked door into a frenzy. Not here, not when he has Glenn in his arms.

The kid seems to get it, because he just moves that tiny bit closer. And sighs. "Rain check?"

"Damn right I want a rain check," Daryl says. "You don't follow through, you ain't nothin' but a cock tease."

"God knows I don't want that reputation," Glenn says dryly. He pulls back just far enough to meet Daryl's eyes, and when he licks his lips Daryl's hard-pressed to resist bending down and taking them again. "There's an old greenhouse in the backyard," Glenn points out. "Should be a full moon tonight, I think."

Daryl cocks his head. "You askin' me on a date or somethin'?"

"That depends. Are you saying yes?"

Daryl's gaze flicks to the bath toys on the shelf, that fancy pink robe. Caring about people in this day and age is nothing but a liability. The kid's right – the world's gone to shit, the odds are definitely not in their favour, and every day just brings them all one day closer to an early grave. Getting pleasure when you can is one thing; actually making a connection, a commitment? That's a fool's game. All that does is play with your head, make it harder for you to concentrate on staying alive.

"Look, never mind," Glenn says, carefully beginning to extricate himself from his arms. "I'll just see you whenever I—"

When every inch that Glenn moves away feels more wrong than the last, Daryl realizes it's already too late. He's fallen, hook line and sinker. And there's no turning back now. 

He reaches out to snag at Glenn's arm, waits until Glenn's eyes snap up to his. 

"It's a date," he says.


End file.
